ly and once for all into his hands.
Now this her daughter did not seem disposed to do. She said to him, with
most manifest anxiety, "You will do nothing without me. You will do
nothing until we meet again."

This he had promised readily enough, for what _could_ he do in the short
hours which must elapse between now and their next meeting? As he was
dressing, however, on the following morning, a sudden idea did occur to
him, and on this idea he resolved to act before he saw Charlotte at six
o'clock in the evening. He would go to Somerset House and see Mr.
Harman's will. What Daisy first, and now Charlotte, had never thought of
doing during all these years he would do that very day. Thus he would
gain certain and definite information. With this information it would be
comparatively easy to know best how to act.

He went to Somerset House. He saw the will; he saw the greatness of the
robbery committed so many years ago; he saw and he felt a wild kind of
almost savage delight in the fact that he could quickly and easily set
the wrong right, for he was one of the trustees. He saw all this, and
yet--and yet--he went away a very unhappy and perplexed man, for he had
seen something else--he had seen a woman's agony and despair. Sandy
Wilson possessed the very softest soul that had ever been put into a big
body. He never could bear to see even a dog in pain. How then could he
look at the face of this girl which, all in a moment, under his very
eyes, had been blanched with agony? He could not bear it. He forgot his
fierce longing for revenge, he forgot his niece Charlotte's wrongs, in
this sudden and passionate desire to succor the other Charlotte, the
daughter of the bad man who had robbed his own sister, his own niece; he
became positively anxious that Miss Harman should not commit herself;
he felt a nervous fear as each word dropped from her lips; he saw that
she spoke in the extremity of despair. How could he stop the words which
told too much? He was relieved when the thought occurred to him to ask
her to meet him again--again when they both were calmer. She had
consented, and he found himself advising her, as he would have advised
his own dear daughter had he been lucky enough to have possessed one. He
promised her that nothing, nothing should be done until they met again,
and so afraid was he that in his interview that evening with his niece,
Mrs. Home, he might be tempted to drop some word which might betray ever
so litt